


a word will suffice

by PikaCheeka



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Teasing, underage flashbacks, vitri finally finally getting it on very explicitly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PikaCheeka/pseuds/PikaCheeka
Summary: It's been a long time since they've had sex. They don't know what to expect.Happy one-year-of-writing-ViTri anniversary to me!





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my twenty-fifth ViTri fic/drabble since April 10th, 2016, when I posted my first one. This is a bit of an anniversary fic, with me finally writing that really explicit penetrative sex between them that I put off for so long. So please bear with me for the author's note.
> 
> I just want to give a big THANK YOU to all who have read my fics this last year, especially those who have stuck by me all along. It's hard to write for a small fandom, and I admit I often wish I liked something hugely popular so that I could regularly enjoy new fanworks created by other fans. But I am in this for the long haul, as I have many more fics I want to write (two more already finished and in queue). The smallness of the fandom has made me cherish every comment and any support I receive that much more, so this fic is dedicated to the handful of long-time readers who have come forward to say hi (especially those who I have made lasting friendships with) as well as to those who have passed in and out of my fics over the last year, who may have only read one or two months ago, but still decided to leave a comment, to make a bookmark, to leave a kudos. ViTri are weirdly important to me, and as hard as it is to be in a small/shrinking fandom, I'm glad I have been writing for them, and glad I can continue to do so for a while yet. As always, I am happy to talk ViTri with anyone, or take requests for fics!

 "It's been a while since we've done it."

He feels Trip's weight shift on the bed behind him, but he doesn't turn as he shrugs, "Oh?" He knows exactly what he’s talking about, a fact he doesn’t care to dwell on as he flips another page in the magazine. Some tourist rag, one in a dozen they’d been given by his mentor within the Yakuza. _Trip killed the wrong person. It’s best to get out of here for a while. We’ll clean it up but take the first ferry tomorrow and get lost for a week or two. Take these burners and we’ll call you. Disable your allmate chips and avoid big cities, if you can._ Takahashi hadn’t been happy about it, but when he is ever happy, Virus isn’t sure about; Toue had been rightfully enraged, reminding them that their work for the mob was secondary and he didn’t appreciate them inconveniencing him. But for Virus, the situation is only mildly irritating, and even then only because despite it being entirely Trip’s fault, he doesn’t seem particularly concerned about making things easier. “Shouldn’t you be helping me with this anyway?”

If he even hears him, he doesn’t acknowledge it as he pushes on in his taunting voice, a lilt to the last word. "You must be getting old."

"Hm," but it isn't an answer and they both know it, so he waits a long moments, listens to the younger man breathe before going on. A sound solid and welcoming, familiar, all he's known for nearly two thirds of his life. He stares blankly at an advertisement for some national park out in the middle of nowhere, four tiny islands in the Sea of Japan with a dancing squid for the mascot. They don’t need more islands. "I thought you were into women these days. I was just teaching you about sex."

The words don't sound genuine, even to him, as he remembers how weeks stretched into months and suddenly years, how they still lived and worked together, ate and even bathed together, regularly touched and joked and shared a certain intimacy and trust they never had with another. But they'd stopped having sex some time ago, a fact that Virus feels deep within his marrow, knowledge akin to his own name. He cares about it more than he should, and so he'd never mentioned it, never climbed into Trip's bed and began touching him, never presented himself, never demanded or even asked, as the world trod on. There’d been enough times when he passed out drunk or intoxicated in front of Trip, when the younger man could have had his way had he wanted it, but nothing else had come to pass. And Virus had been paralyzed, unsure how or why things stopped, and had forced himself to shrug it off over time. It had been a short-lived affair, after all, considering how long they have known one another, nearly sixteen months of relentless sex that gradually fell to what they have now over the next few years. From nearly every day to every other day, to once a week, a few times a month, once a month, and one last time, nearly four months since their last fuck, before the silence of bedsprings in the last six years. They’re fine as they are, he tells himself.

"'S that all it was?" He yawns, and Virus doesn’t have to turn to know it’s one of his loud cat yawns, tongue curling and canines bared. He could never decide if they were vulgar or attractive, like so much of Trip.

"We were just young and horny." He pauses, remembers when bumping hips in the hall turned to sex on the kitchen counter, when they'd have to take two or three showers a day because they'd fuck before one even finished drying off, when eyes met across a room at work meant a quickie in the bathroom, when every glance, every touch from the younger man made him hard and desperate. _The honeymoon phase_ , as some might call it, except they were never a couple. Just room-mates, work partners, people who tolerated one another and conveniently shared space and an excess of sexual energy. "And always available to each other."

"So you _are_ just old."

"Shut up," but there is a pleasant warmth building in the pit of his belly now, because he can sense Trip has moved closer and the magazine in his hands is even less interesting than before. He likes this, this sudden acknowledgment again, a reminder of all they once had, perhaps still have, only simmering just beneath the surface. 

And then, just as this occurs to him, Trip is holding him, arms slipped around his waist as he pulls him in from behind and mouths his neck. "We're still always available to each other, yea?"

Virus stiffens in his arms, unsure of what to do now that what he'd longed for is suddenly happening again. _Yes, yes, yes_ , he wants to reply, but he only says, "Why now?" He doesn’t add the rest, the _what if it’s weird? Should we be trying this when we’re going to be stuck with each other for a while?_

"Mm... I'll be twenty-five next week."

His birthday. He hadn’t forgotten, already has a present hidden in his closet, but in the recent frenzy it had slipped his mind. Not that it matters, because his logic, as always, is difficult to follow. "So? It’s a little early for birthday sex.”

"That's how old you was when we stopped. Good time to give it a try again."

"Just a one-off for old time's sake?"

"We’re gonna have a lot of free time the next two weeks so… depends on how much fun it is."

He can feel his shoulders rise and fall behind him, and realizes at once just how much Trip's body has changed since they last had sex as he settles back against him. Wider now, more solid, and he absently glances down at the magazine now forgotten on the floor. A forced vacation because Trip killed someone again. _Was an accident_ , he’d shrugged back then, too. _Sorta. Maybe. Okay, okay, he was being a dick_. And Virus had had to bite his lip to keep from laughing, just as he wants to now, because somehow that incident had made his body that much more attractive. There'd been a significant difference between the first and last time they slept together, but those six long years since the last fuck only made it more pronounced. It's a body he knows well, after so many years of intimacy with him, and after so many years of merely living together. But this, _now_ , is not what he slept with back _then_ , and no amount of staring at him in the bath or while he dressed or fought could equal what he is now offering. “I don’t know if I want that kind of judgment passed on me.”

He remembers then, that first time, a lazy summer afternoon he's thought of far more than he cares to admit, replaying the memory over and over as some stranger goes down on him in a cheap love hotel. They never brought their hookups home, never attempted any real relationship with anyone, never slept with someone more than a handful of times unless it was advantageous in some manner. They bought sex from some, and in turn received payment for sex with others. And nearly every time, whether man or woman was with him, Virus found his mind wandering to his own personal opioid. _(Sitting on the edge of the younger man’s bed, the book he’d been flipping through long-forgotten on the floor as Trip wrapped his arms around him from behind and began mouthing his neck, ghosting gently over his skin before becoming more insistent, assertive, as the hands on his belly began exploring, pulling at his shirt. An incident not entirely unexpected from the fifteen-year-old, newly introduced to sex and women and openly interested in Virus, but still surprising for all the nights he’d never moved. It didn't take him long to begin stroking his skin, touching his naval and running fingers down the trail of hair that ended at his waistband before sliding back up his torso. He'd begun biting him as he touched his nipples, and Virus had moaned then, had arched his back and  reached back to bury his fingers in Trip's hair, press him still closer. At some point Trip palmed him, and Virus found himself gasping again, leaning into his touch._ )

It's the same now, the same and at once so impossibly different. There's history between them, not just nine years of knowing one another, but an additional four years of sex and six years of pretending it had never happened. Their bodies are different now, and there is a strength and an urgency to Trip's touch that was not there all those years ago, a languid longing to the arch of Virus' back that he hadn't yet mastered back then. _For old time's sake_ , he tells himself, as those hands he knows so well pinch his nipples, squeeze his ribcage. They’re bigger now, more calloused with a scar or two. He knows he's blushing long before Trip laughs, a triumphant purr against his collarbone.

He still remembers the next moment the most vividly, reflects on it as he touches himself on the nights he sleeps alone. ( _The moment when he'd let all reservation go, when he'd grabbed one of Trip's hands in his own, pushed it inside of his pants and wrapped the younger man's fingers around his dick at the same time he turned his head, twisted in his arms to find his mouth and kiss him.)_

Trip's a better kisser now, more steady and forceful, domineering and comforting somehow, more sure with the fingers he gropes Virus with, no longer needing the direction the older man had commanded back then. And stronger, because when his weight shifts again, when the arm around Virus tightens as he suddenly throws them back onto the bed, there is none of the hesitance, the awkwardness of back then. There is an assuredness, a confidence and a control, in Trip's actions now that send Virus into dizzying arousal as his partner lies on him, kissing him with enough force to leave him gasping for air, an arousal mirrored as he pushes a knee up to meet Trip’s crotch, to have him immediately grind down on him and moan. He’d always been like that, fast to get hard, fast to act.

( _It hadn't taken long then, either, only a matter of seconds before Trip rolled with him, threw him down onto the bed and climbed on top of him and kissed him again and again, hands and mouths everywhere. Virus had given into him entirely, surprising himself with his desperation, his neediness, his willingness to let Trip flip him onto his stomach and lift his hips. And as Trip leaned over him, pressed against the cleft of his ass, he'd whispered, "Is this okay?" They were the first and last words Trip said that night. "Yea," Virus had gasped, fingers curling in the sheets in anticipation and more than a little fear.)_

He almost doesn't hear the words whispered in his ear, lost as he is in the past, in how much heavier and harder Trip’s body is now as he pushes his face into the pillow and grabs his hip, how different his voice sounds now when aroused, low and husky and dangerous in ways a teenager could never fathom.

"Is this okay?"

He freezes, hesitates, wavers. _Yea_. He should say _yea_ , and that is all. That's all it had ever been. Because Trip remembers this, remembers all of this, and Virus understand then that the memory that had so shaped his sexuality over the last decade was equally as important to him, and suddenly this isn't a one-off. This isn't a bored fuck. Like everything between them that they were too stupid to understand then, this isn’t the same as all their other lays. _Faces they won’t recognize a day later, names they never even knew._ He wants to face him, and so he elbows him, pushes him aside enough to roll onto his back. He feels the hesitance, the way Trip's muscles tighten momentarily, as if he thinks Virus is going to say _no_ , is shoving him off because he changed his mind. The older man doesn't want to give him time to even ask. He hooks a wrist around the back of his neck, tracing circles over his skin with a finger with an intimacy they didn't have back then, one they apparently never lost, as he grins at the confusion in his partner's eyes now. They aren’t going to talk about this, just as they never have. A word will suffice. "Yea," he finally whispers.

_(Between Trip's inexperience with men and his eagerness, it had hurt far more than he'd enjoyed it back then. But there was something in it that thrilled him, being at his mercy, and though he'd cried into the pillow, screamed and convulsed violently when Trip first rammed his prostate, mercilessly thrust against his sensitive spot again and again without giving him time to adjust to the shock, he’d been more aroused and excited than he’d ever been in his life.)_

Trip opens his mouth to speak, to question him and the difference in position, but Virus holds a finger out, presses it gently to his lips until he takes it in his teeth. And as he sucks on his finger, he remembers just how good Trip is at giving head. _Or was_ , he supposes; he knows the younger man hasn’t bothered with men other than him, and from what he’s heard from the women they’ve shared over the years, he isn’t much for oral on them either. Very much the type to fuck without undressing, the type who felt if he couldn’t get off within fifteen minutes of being alone with someone, they weren’t worth his time. _Unrecognizable_ , because now he is taking his time. Biting his ears and planting open-mouthed kisses down his bruised throat, over his clavicles as he circles his nipples with his thumbs, electricity sparking through Virus’ body at every touch. He still knows his sensitive spots, and it’s all Virus can do to keep up.

He leans away only once, to grab the lube in Virus’ nightstand, as if he’d checked recently to be sure it was there, or perhaps he’d only rightly assumed his habits hadn’t changed since six years ago. And from then on he only moves closer, strips off both their shirts and presses skin to skin, as if he can’t get enough contact. He is burning, a furnace even through the winter, and Virus finds himself rubbing up against him frantically, arching his back and pressing into him as hard as he can. _Six years_. An unforgivable span of time he blames himself for, because apparently Trip was always ready, always waiting, and he wants to ask, to ascertain this, but to say anything else would break the re-enactment, so he stores it away. They have a lot to catch up on, he realizes, as he rolls his hips, runs hands down the planes of his stomach as he fumbles for Trip’s belt.

Looking back, he is unsure how they ever manage to kick their pants off without their tongues breaking contact, but they achieve this somehow. And then they are against one another, Virus excitedly hooking a leg around his hip, using the other foot as leverage to grind up into him. When he feels his erection against his belly, he wonders if he’d forgotten how big Trip could be, if all those glimpses of him when flaccid in the bath made him forget what he was like, or if he’s one of those rare individuals who keeps growing _in all ways_ until his early twenties, but the thought passes as quickly as it appears, because all that matters is that mouth over his and that hand squeezing their dicks together, thumbing over his head with an urgency indicating that he, too, feels it has been too long. He wants to tell him to move faster, to hurry things, as he slips a hand between their bellies and wraps his fingers around the younger man’s.

Trip doesn’t sit back, instead he leans on his shoulder, pushing down against Virus as he fumbles with the lube, a liberal amount coating his hand before he tosses it aside. It can’t be comfortable, but they both understand – there is a need to maximize the contact between them, to let their heat build as they share breath, as Trip runs a slick hand up his dick before reaching down to stroke Virus’ perineum. The coldness makes the older man gasp, whimper in anticipation and need. He’s sensitive there, more than he knows is normal, and Trip has not forgotten. He uses two fingers immediately, as he used to often do, making Virus hiss and kick, lift his hips to alleviate the sudden sensation and curl his toes, arch his foot against the mattress.

It feels good, feels _right_ , even in the discomfort, and he is already desperate for more as Trip scissors his fingers, pushes deeper into him. There is something in this preparation that has always excited Virus beyond measure, sent thrills of fear and trembling and pleasure through every nerve in his body, because he is being forcefully made ready for the penetration, for the next immeasurable moment in his life when Trip will own him, completely and utterly, and control every asset of his existence, even the air he breathes. He feels he is sacrificing something here, some imperceptible part of himself he’d never properly unearthed or understood, an aspect of his existence that remains untouched when he performs this act with anyone else. Because he doesn’t want to think on it any further than this. It’s too much, too powerful a thought, _better to keep it where it is_ , a violence laid bare only in sex when words and emotions no longer hold sway, and Virus finds himself laughing as a third finger slides into him.

It isn’t long before their eyes meet for one long, unblinking moment then, at once identical and nothing alike – Trip had never been able to dye his eyelashes, thick and red to Virus’ pale long ones. And Virus is grateful that he made this decision, to face him this time, even if it meant compromising the tradition, because he finds he wants to remember this image, ingrain it behind his eyelids so that he can recall it whenever he wishes, in the more painful moments of his life, and he exhales softly.

He pushes into him then, hooking his leg over his bicep and digging thumbs into his ass to hold him open. There is an agonizing slowness and precision to it as Virus’ whole world narrows, past and future shrinking to this one single moment he knows he will remember for years to come, perhaps forever, where all that matters is Trip, Trip, _Trip_.

_(And when Trip had climbed into his bed a few nights later, had pressed him against the wall in the shower after a week, had pushed him facedown onto the floor in the middle of a movie ten nights after the incident, he'd accepted all of it, eagerly, wantonly, desperately, while the silence between them grew. Those next three times were as uncomfortable and painful as the first, but still Virus was excited for them, those moments when Trip would suddenly grab him. The act completed him in ways he had never known needed completion, made him secure and comfortable at Trip’s side, as if they were finally one perfect unit. He felt it only made sense, that they’d come to this eventually.)_

He’s rougher than Virus remembers, an exquisite strength bearing down around him, _inside_ him, and it makes Virus slip up, makes him forget the importance of silence, as he gasps out one single _harder_ , one _please,_ one _oh god_ as he gets what he asks for and wonders if it’s possible to be split in half. The younger man finds his prostate quickly enough, never giving him time to adjust to the sudden shock jolting through his every nerve; it’s been a long time since he’s had sex like this, since he’s let anyone touch him there, and Virus finds that he can scarcely keep up, that once again he is reduced to that hard heat tearing him apart as he struggles to breathe. Trip growls in his ear, snapping his hips viciously as he occasionally grabs Virus’ hands, his throat, fingers his nipples and jerks him off in time to his own movements.

Virus is aware of how much noise he is making, of how he’s no longer trying to hold in the cries and whimpers and gasps, of how he’s not furiously trying to hide his face, wipe his tears and all indication of weakness away. There’d been times, back then, when he’d been like this, though drugs were usually involved. This wanton openness, this display of vulnerability, is rare for him, and he knows it is driving Trip to new heights in the way that he kisses him, touches him, every bit of contact carrying with it a burning reverence and something _more_ than Virus is unwilling to reflect on. It’s enough to know it exists, a delicate intensity resting in the skin of their fingertips, as he continually rocks his hips up to meet Trip’s thrusts, wraps first one and then both legs still tighter around him as he claws furrows down his back and tangles fingers in his hair. There will be blood and bruises between then tomorrow, their sex akin to a fight as they both desperately try to get _closer_. Because this is what they’d always wanted, what they strove for in all the years where they mimicked one another, as if they’d known from that first day nineteen years ago that it would come to this eventually, no matter how long a span went between fucks. They’d always come back to this because they were made for one another. Made to _merge_ , to touch fingers and skin in the dark and not know who was who, and when tears come to his eyes he isn’t sure if it’s pain or pleasure or _knowing_.

Trip doesn’t last long, picking up speed before abruptly changing to a slow grind to get in even deeper as he sinks his teeth into Virus’ ear, his lip, his throat, in orgasm. He rarely does, though Virus knows all too well how many times he is able to go in a single night, and he doesn’t ask, doesn’t make any attempt to slide out, just as he never has, when he comes in him, and Virus gasps and cries out as his insides spasm and his hips stutter. His orgasm comes seconds later, as Trip is still thrusting into him, caught in the waves of his own climax, his world, already so small and focused, dissolving into a violent white.

_(It wasn't until the fifth time that Virus finally spoke, pushed Trip off him to roll onto his back and tell him that men could be fucked like this, too. "In the same position as women?" Trip had asked, and Virus had shown him. Things had changed after that night, and from then on they explored, pushed their limits, discovered what one another liked best, and Virus guided him through all of it, being the older one, the more experienced one.)_

He’s surprised at how easily they touch now, at how natural it feels to let Trip spoon him, tangle their legs together beneath the sheets while they breathe for several minutes. Back then he would have complained about the heat, would have pushed him off to grab a cigarette or get back to work while Trip slept it off.

"Was pretty different," Trip finally says.

"What'd you expect? You're more experienced now."

He grins against the back of his neck, "And you're more of a slut now. You made a lotta noise."

"If I am it's only because you made me that way." But he knows he's blushing again. He likes hearing Trip say that, the casual dominance it carries as it rolls off his tongue, the truth behind it, and he's reminded all over again of that first initial thrill he'd felt ten years ago, the realization that he was at Trip's mercy. They are equals in every way, except in sex, when they willingly tip the balance in a way they both prefer. He traces fingers over the arm around his waist, from his wrist to his bicep before continuing. "You're a lot stronger and heavier. Not a kid anymore."

“Yea you got a little more muscle since then, too. Your fucking babyface though,” and he’s poking his cheeks, prodding and pulling until Virus hisses and turns in his arms to face him, push a hand up against his chin.

“How was it?” The question spills out of him before he can stop himself when he catches his eyes, realizes how Trip’s eyelashes stick together in sweat.

But Trip doesn’t answer, at least not directly, because as he leans in to kiss him, he whispers something that makes Virus grow impossibly warm, "I still think about what you asked. That night you first rode me."

 _(The ninth time they fucked, Virus had ridden him, had leaned over and laughed into his mouth as he orgasmed. That had been the first time Trip had held him afterwards, had continued to kiss and nuzzle and touch him long after the sex, and Virus had suggested what he'd held back from saying until then._ I want to come from my ass alone. No way _, Trip had muttered sleepily,_ I'm not good enough for that yet. But someday. Yea, yea _, and he'd kissed him until Virus forgot everything but the hands on him and the dick now pushing into him for the second time that night. Trip had been insatiable that first year, relentless in his desires, but as they worked their way through dozens of lists of sex positions and toys and drugs, even tried switching the roles from time to time, they never tried that, not even in the years that followed. Because as they had sex less and less often, they grew increasingly impatient, eager, desperate for more contact and immediate satisfaction, as if they both knew it was coming to an end and they didn't have a moment to lose.)_

"Oh," he breathes. "It'd take a while now. I haven't..." he bites off the word _practiced_. Because he'd given up long ago at the thought of trying it with him, because there have been six years between tonight and the last time they had sex and he’d stored that desire away, walled it off in one of the many locked rooms of his memory.

"Don't we have a while? We're always...available to each other."

"Wasn't this for old time's sake?"

"Only if you want it to be. How long’d we fuck last time?”

“Almost four years.”

He mulls this over a moment. “Wanna do it again? Have a go for a while. Take a break a few years and then give it another run. Keep it exciting that way.”

In his words there is carried the assumption they will always be together, indefinitely. An assumption Virus has always been oddly grateful for, though he would never comment on it. He hasn’t felt alone in nineteen years. And then he suddenly remembers. “Fuck!”

“Again? Figured you couldn’t get it up again so soon like you used to.”

“No, you animal. We have to be on that ferry in eight hours and I need to sleep. Are you packed? Where are we even going?” He tries to sit up, to get off the bed, grab the stack of magazines to quickly flip through them, find a random destination and stick to it, but his mind is still in a post-orgasmic haze and when Trip grabs his arm and pulls him in again, he doesn’t resist.

“Shh shh, we’ll pick a place on the ferry. Fucking four hour ride anyway and it’s gotta stop at the same harbor no matter what train we take after. We can just hole up and have sex until we get the all-clear to come back. ‘Slike a honeymoon, actually. Good birthday present.” He slides a finger down the cleft of Virus’ ass, teasing him, and arches an eyebrow.

It’s a lot of words for Trip, one of those rare moments when he strings more than two sentences together, and Virus finds himself growing warm again, because he likes what he’s saying, what he’s implying, and he wants nothing more than to push back against his finger, to feel Trip inside of him again, but not now. There’s no time now. They’ll have all the time in the world in twelve hours. _Will there be any privacy on the boat?_ Eight hours. And so he extricates himself, lazily kissing him before pushing his arm off and sitting back, stepping off the bed with one foot to pick his shirt up off the floor. He can’t remember the last time he stripped entirely for sex. Probably the last time with Trip. “Don’t call it that. I wouldn’t marry you.”

“Did you forget?” And Trip rolls onto his back and stretches as he laughs. “Anyways lemme clean you up. You’re dripping.”

He feels it the same moment Trip mentions it, the cold viscousness of come and lube slipping down his inner thigh, and he squeezes his legs together as he remembers. _A fit of rage and frustration over having to expend so much on taxes, on separate insurance, on the apartment lease. A few online searches bringing about the realization that signing a few papers and getting a notary seal on them would solve all of those problems. The acceptance that neither of them had any intention of ever signing those papers with anyone else, so they might as well, right?_ They’d laughed about it then, too. And just as quickly as he’d gotten out of bed, he’s climbing back in, mounting the younger man’s hips and lying across his chest. Seven hours is plenty of time to pack, catch a nap, and grab a taxi to the harbor.

“Fuck,” he whispers again. It’s all he can say. After all, a word will suffice.

 

 

 


End file.
